Save The Planet, Then Shawarma Maybe?
by SqutternutBosh
Summary: Going for shawarma, whether it's after saving the world or not, becomes a regular thing for the Avengers. Five times they go for shawarma and one time it's brought to them. Chapter 6- And one time shawarma was brought to them...
1. A Regular Outing

A/N: so, I've not written these characters before, but this is going to be a- hopefully humorous- attempt at a sort of 5 and 1 deal with the Avengers heading out for their all-important shawarma. Five times the Avengers go for shawarma and one time it comes to them.

…*…

The first time they go for shawarma is after Thor returns to the planet once again.

Well, the first time since their initial gathering, the, 'hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but save the planet, then shawarma maybe?' meal they had had following the Loki incident. That had been a silent affair, although completely companionable. All present were familiar with earth-saving adrenalin rushes and the huge pangs of hunger which followed. New York was put back together behind them as they chewed thoughtfully and shared their first insights into Thor's huge Asgardian appetite.

And now Thor and his bottomless stomach are back in town, only a few weeks later, so Tony thinks that it must be time for shawarma again. The timing of his invite is far better than his previous, and de facto Avengers leader Steve agrees that they could all do with a bit of team bonding, never knowing when they may next be called to act together.

'Déjà vu,' Tony quips as he takes the same seat as he had previously done. The table was free, so why not? 'Thor, big guy, you even brought your cape and everything. How's Mjolnir doing?'

'Mightily,' comes Thor's booming reply. He scowls down at the laminated menu in his hands. 'This is not a form of Midgardian dialect I have come across before.'

'It's Arabic,' Bruce explains.

'Don't worry about it, Shakes, we'll just order you one of everything, then you can eat it all and I can foot the bill. Boy, do I enjoy dinner _and_ a show,' Tony tells the demi-god.

It is Tony who does most of the talking once they have placed their orders. Steve still isn't entirely sure just exactly what he _has _ordered but he reasons that it has to be better than most of what was sent down to the front lines. He hadn't eaten anything the last time they had visited the establishment, his super-soldier metabolism churning along happily without needing a refuel.

The Captain, from his position at the head of the table, looks down the length of it as Tony blathers on, taking up most of the oxygen and replacing it with hot air. Thor listens raptly, eager to see what Midgardian adventures he has been missing out on. Bruce pushes a foot against the leg of the table, easing his chair into a leaning position as he wipes his glasses against the bottom edge of his shirt. Natasha is eyeing Tony wryly as he speaks. Without looking away from the billionaire playboy philanthropist she reaches out and takes a butter knife from between Clint's fingers. He had been dragging it against the wood, bored, and not really paying Tony all that much attention. He reaches out and starts fiddling with a salt shaker instead.

Natasha set the knife back down as Tony was saying,

'Honestly though, this guy,' he claps a hand heartily against Bruce's shoulder, who stumbles forward as his four chair legs reach the ground again. Bruce's hands slam against the table as he catches his balance. If the table had not been surrounded by a super-solider, a demi-god and two assassins, there may have been an intake of breath as they waited to see whether the sudden shock launched the Hulk out of hiding.

'Whoops, sorry, Brucie,' Tony says, then continues, 'don't know what I did without him. My R&D people, some of the best in the world, are like snotty children- _no,_ ants- _no_, plankton, - compared to Dr Banner here. I have gotten so much done since he joined up with me. I may even start paying him.'

'Aw, did little Tony find a friend?' Natasha mocks.

'Sounds like more than that,' Clint mutters. Natasha laughs at that, and Steve smiles.

'Birdbrain, scientists might not believe in soul mates but we definitely know a lot about chemistry,' Tony drawls. He gestures between himself and Bruce. 'And _we_… have chemistry.'

'If you say so, Tony,' Bruce says, as if this one phrase is a necessity within his daily life. It is.

'Only, you mustn't tell Pepper.'

'I get the feeling she knows.'

Tony gasps and holds a hand to his chest in a swoon. His arc reactor glows through his fingers. 'Sweetie, you told her about us?'

'She has spent almost as much time in the lab as we have. She knows. Apparently she's willing to share.'

Their shawarma dishes arrive and Tony's mouth is just full enough that he is unable to talk.

'Thor, what brings you back to earth- uh, I mean, Midguard?' Steve asks.

'My lady, Jane Foster,' Thor spews through a mouthful of mixed meats. 'I wish to return and speak with her.'

'Yeah, well, make sure you do it without food in your mouth, Hammer Time, the ladyfolk down here aren't so hot on that. _Yeuch_,' Tony comments. He picks a lump of beef from out of his hair and flicks it at Steve, who catches it, realises it has been in Thor's mouth, and instantly drops it once again.

'It's nice that you have someone here,' Steve says, wiping his hand along his jeans. Demi-god or not, he doesn't really want another man's saliva all over his palm while he's trying to eat.

'And you, of course, my Avenger friends!' Thor beams. 'Many happy times can be spent amongst you upon Midguard.'

'The Chitauri invasion was such a happy time,' Bruce says to this.

'Time of my life,' Natasha adds drily.

'Memories,' Tony sighs, as if he is a pre-pubescent girl reflecting upon the moment that dreamy guy in class looked over at her (or rather, out of the window past her). 'Who's going to bring the camera next time, huh, guys? Gotta get some snaps for our Avengers Christmas card.'

'I usually have a good vantage point, but my hands tend to be otherwise occupied,' Clint answers, 'it'd be pretty hard.'

'That's what she said.'

Clint rolls his eyes. Thor wonders who this mythical she is; the one who is omnipresent and often speaking, but never so that he notices.

Steve steers the conversation back on track.

'Fun or no, I think we did well. As a team. After Tony had managed to shove himself and his ego into his Iron Man suit, of course.'

'Wahey, GI Joe, _does _have a sense of humour. Knew you had it in you somewhere, Cap, underneath all that moral fibre.'

'I don't think you realise how hard it is to tell a joke when you're suddenly in another _century_, Stark.'

'Sure I do. I was halfway through a classic knock-knock joke as the ball dropped at the end of '99.'

'Not surprising, consider the amount you talk, Stark,' Natasha comes in to defend Steve's vintage honour.

'Children, children,' Bruce calms.

They chew in silence for a few minutes.

'If you don't mind me asking, Thor,' Steve starts, 'what happened to Loki when you got back to Asgard?'

Thor looks oddly solemn.

'I cannot possibly say.'

Clint, who had looked up sharply at the mention of Loki's name, suggested, 'An arrow to the knee? Eyes? Balls?'

'I cannot possibly say.'

'Do you have the death sentence on Asgard?' Tony asks bluntly.

'Death brings only the rewards of Valhalla to the departed,' Thor answers, not sensing any disrespect in Tony's impertinence. 'And a demi-god such as my brother- adopted brother- would not be so easy to destroy.'

'Not even the Other Guy managed that,' Bruce says.

'So what kind of punishment befits a minor god who has attempted genocide?' Tony ponders.

'Taking his magic away?' Bruce suggests.

'I cannot possibly say.'

'Isolation and imprisonment?' Steve adds.

'I cannot possibly say.'

'Knives pinning him down for a couple of hundred years?' It is Natasha this time.

'I cannot possibly say.'

'Having to muck out the eight-legged horse for the next century?' Tony muses.

'I- I cannot-,' Thor fumbles.

'What?'

'That's it?' Clint exclaims viciously, slamming his glass down. '_That's _it?'

'It is a sufficient punishment,' Thor says sombrely. 'And only the beginning of many.'

'You never know, Barton, it may be worse than it sounds,' Tony says. 'It's got eight legs, maybe its got a few extra as-,'

'It is a sufficient punishment,' Thor repeats.

'I have a few other ideas…'

And so, their first official Avengers shawarma outing is spent coming up with more creative ways to punish Loki for all of his crimes. Despite some of Clint and Natasha's darker suggestions, Tony's apparent inability to take any of it seriously and Thor's constant repetition of himself, Steve thinks that it's nice that they at least have something to bond over.


	2. Paparazzi

It had become something of a regular thing for the team to gather for shawarma. Bruce was, after all, living on his own floor of Tony's Stark Tower and spending hours with the illustrious man himself. Thor had decided to stay in New York for a while whilst Jane worked on a research grant proposal at the university, and Tony had offered them a suite too, which had been accepted. Steve accepted a similar invitation to join them so that he could be in a position to bond with his team and to be out from under the stifling watch of SHIELD. He may be a bit clueless when it came down to life in the twenty-first century, but he wasn't as vulnerable and naïve as some made him out to be, and he appreciated Bruce's honest answers to his questions and often Tony's more blunt approach. He was even starting to like the guy.

The only Avengers not in the tower on a daily basis were Natasha and Clint, who were still under SHIELD embargo. Tony was trying to wheedle them out of it, trying to fulfil some newly found fantasy of his in which six superheroes (well, a robotic man, a super-soldier, a demi-god, a huge green rage monster and two assassins) all lived together and trashed the place. Steve had noticed his eyes light up with manic glee as he imagined the sorts of hijinks they could all get up to, some sort of high-budget sitcom. Or maybe even a reality TV show because, really, who wouldn't watch that?

Until that time came though, the group would meet for shawarma once a week. It wasn't even planned, it just sort of happened.

The fourth or fifth time it happened, however, they weren't alone.

It is Natasha who is first to notice something is off. Steve notices her silently communicating something to Clint with a swift tap of the shoulder and a quirking of her eyebrows. Clint frowns and leaves his mouth hanging open mid-chew, exposing the mashed up meaty delights for everyone to enjoy.

'What's up HawkEye, find another bone in your food?' Tony asks as he washes down his own oversized bite with some water.

'As we keep finding bones in our food, the small pointy kind which could easily kill even us, I have no idea why we keep coming back to this place,' says Bruce.

'This is our place, Bruce, _our place_. It's our Central Perk, our Cheers bar, our-,'

'Alright, Tony, we get your point. This is where we all hang out and have jests and japes together. This sitcom fantasy really means a lot to you, doesn't it?'

'Our theme tune would be Highway To Hell.'

Thor hammers his fist down on the table, a signal the waiters have by now come to learn as meaning 'more of your fine goods, noble sirs.' A fresh plate appears at his elbow in a matter of seconds before the waiter scampers off as fast as his little legs will carry him.

'I like the bones!' Thor exclaims. 'They bring a delicious crunch to our feasting.'

Natasha reaches over and, with her index finger, tilts Clint's chin up and closes his mouth for him as it had continued to hang open as he concentrated on something across the room. The action reminds him that he does, in fact, have part-masticated shawarma in his mouth, and he chews and swallows.

'Yeah, you're right,' he says after a moment, glancing at Natasha. 'You recognise him too?'

'Recognise who?' Tony asks.

Steve sighs. It's probably another one of these celebrities who is famous for no real reason that he can see.

'He's one of the guys who used to shadow Tony,' Natasha says, still mostly talking to Clint and ignoring Tony.

'Who? Who followed me? Recognise who?'

'I thought he'd been reassigned though.'

'A guy? Reassigned? Where, what? His gender?'

'Maybe this is his new assignment.'

'Y'know, super-secret spy guys, you're not being as super and secret as you may think and… And I'm not used to being ignored!' His closing statement is unmistakably a whine.

'Tony, be quiet for a second, will ya?' Steve hisses. 'You're Iron Man, not Iron Petulant Child Who Has Had His Candy Taken Away.'

'Ah, I see you've met my inner child.'

Steve ignores him and glances over at the two assassins. 'It might be nice to know what's going on though, guys. Especially if it affects the rest of us.'

'I'm thinking it probably does. From what Tash has told me before,' Clint says.

'That man over there,' Natasha gestures with the slightest incline of her head to a man sat at a table across the room, alone and scribbling furiously with a pen in hand, the other occupied with shovelling large amounts of shawarma into his mouth.

'What man?'

She instantly regrets having made any gesture at all, as the four men facing her turn away to look at the mysterious man.

'No!' she groans. 'Don't all look at once…'

They turn back to her. Bruce at least has the presence of mind to look somewhat bashful.

'Honestly, aren't some of you supposed to be geniuses?' she says through gritted teeth.

'Sorry,' Bruce says.

'The greatest geniuses of Asgard are our warriors,' Thor says, even though nobody asked. 'And a man who once wrote a poem of the highest comedy. Beowulf.'

'Beowulf's a comedy?' Tony's ADD-addled mind is instantly distracted.

'On Asgard, yes, a comedy of the finest intricacies. Of course, our favourite joke is that you people here on Midgard treat it as something to be revered and never laughed at.' Thor laughs, deep and booming, fondly muttering, 'Oh, you little Midgardians, you.'

'Taking things back on topic,' Natasha starts. 'His name is Lionel Schmidt. He's paparazzi.'

'Papa-papa- paparazzi?' Steve struggles to get out. It has been a long time since he was confronted by the flashbulbs of cameras and the cheers of adoring fans for Captain America.

'Honestly, Cap, I know you're in shock about this right now, but that just sounded like you were about to launch into a bit of classic Gaga,' Tony grins.

'Schmidt's probably not the only one around. I'm guessing there are more of them outside. They must have learned we come here,' Natasha says, all very rapidly as her eyes are darting about, taking in the other patrons of the fine establishment- a young Muslim mother in a headscarf with a crying baby held to her chest and an old man sat in the corner who had been slowly coughing up a lung throughout the course of the evening.

'There go our careers as assassins and spies then,' Clint says lightly.

'Don't worry, Barton, we've got your back. _We'll_ be there for you-,'

Bruce cuts Tony off. '_No, _Tony, _no_. This isn't Friends. We are not creating a superhero sitcom just to amuse you!'

'Well, soooorry, but I think it's too late for that. We're going to have to pull off some sort of comedy getaway to escape the newspaper hounds here. What are we thinking, gang? Disguises?'

'We could just walk out,' Steve suggests. 'I mean, from what we can see it _is _only one guy and-,'

'Nice one, Steve,' Clint says briskly, starting to stand. 'You've jinxed us.'

'What? But I didn't say any magic words…'

'I'm giving it about twenty seconds until the hordes arrive.'

'What?'

'How?'

'I hear that these paparazzi have silver tongues; are lie-smiths as my adopted brother is.'

'Gentlemen, gentlemen,' Tony rises slowly, as if on an ascent controlled by some divine power. Thor isn't touching him though. 'And Widow,' he nods courteously at Natasha. 'As the public face of Stark Industries, I have some experience in dealing with the press.'

As he speaks, the hordes Clint had predicted assemble suddenly at the window, appearing as if from nowhere, voices loaded with petty questions and accusations, their dull eyes hungry for gossip. Cameras are flashing already and they have to raise their hands to cover their faces.

'I now offer up my services as the new face of the Avengers Initiative. I shall be the sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. I shall be the fall guy. I shall be-,'

'Shut up being a martyr and get out there,' Natasha, half-blinded by flashes, is shoving Tony forward. 'We'll find another way out, just distract them.'

And with that, Tony falls through the door and is quickly engulfed by the many-microphoned swarm. Steve hears a few snippets of questions as Clint leads them out towards the back-

'-Mr Stark, when will we be seeing the Avengers again?-'

'- what are you really doing to protect this country-'

'- what's Captain America like in bed, Mr Stark?-'

'- how do you get your goatee so perfectly shaped?-'

- but he doesn't have time to process any of it before he has having to make his own escape.

Nobody is too surprised when blurry photographs of themselves, accompanied by heavily exaggerated tales (or, who knows, it had been Tony talking after all) of an upcoming Avengers sitcom featurette appear in the newspapers the next day.


	3. The Fundamentals of Being Housemates

It had been a long day. For the first time since Loki had dropped in for a genocidal visit, the Avengers had been called upon in their official capacity.

And so, after a stressful day of fighting a new extra-terrestrial threat which had attempted to engulf Connecticut, and of having Fury scream down their communication sets that they do things his way, the team are wearily taking their now familiar seats at their favourite shawarma restaurant in downtown Manhattan, press and paparazzi be damned; they were tired and hungry.

Steve has gone beyond feeling self-conscious in his star-spangled spandex, despite Tony's teasing. He tugs at the tight collar, still feeling sweaty from battle. He could have borrowed a standard black SHIELD t-shirt and trousers from the helicarrier as Bruce had done (his clothes having once again been eviscerated by the Other Guy), but had chosen not to. It was always such an effort to attempt to squeeze out of the form-fitting suit and his muscles were aching too much to attempt that last battle of the day, limbs versus restrictive clothing.

Even Tony is quiet as they place their orders. Everybody seems very contemplative.

'You all did good today,' Steve says, unwinding the silence. 'We all did.'

'It's almost a shame we had to put a stop to it, that might have been one of the most exciting things that ever happened to Connecticut,' Tony comments.

'It must have been a brave and bold land for the Targons of Targonon Five to have wanted to invade it,' Thor says. He had recognised their foes instantly upon seeing the video footage that Fury had sent through to them at Stark Towers and knew just how to combat them. 'The Targons are a warrior race for whom there is no greater honour than to triumph over other esteemed fighters.'

'Are you sure their geography wasn't a little off?' Tony asks. 'Maybe their GPS needed a little tweaking? Most of this shit goes down in New York, usually.'

'Maybe they've just watched a lot of movies and are fed up of seeing the same place destroyed all of the time. Wanted a change of scenery,' Bruce suggests. He squints down at his plate. His glasses had been in his pocket when he had gone green and as such were shattered, and the contacts he had had in had only served to agitate the Hulk further as they ripped and stung his corneas mid-transformation. 'Am I about to eat a bone again?'

Tony glances over. 'No, I think that's meant to be there. Bit of gristle or something. Yummy.'

Bruce makes the decision not to eat the mysterious blurry lump and picks at his salad instead. Across the table, Natasha has jabbed Clint quite forcefully in the ribs with her unused fork.

'Hey!' he cries indignantly, hand flying from the side of his head, where it had been playing with his fresh stitches, to his side.

'Stop picking them, Barton, you're just going to make the scarring worse,' she tells him.

'So?' he grunts, taking a sulky bite.

'It's just not a good look.'

Tony appears scandalised. 'What? I thought chicks _dug_ scars.'

'This is where we have that conversation again about you watching too much TV when you're down in the workshop,' Bruce says patiently.

'But where else am I supposed to learn about the outside world?'

'_Outside_, maybe?' Steve says. 'It worked wonders for me.'

'Yeah, that and you couldn't figure out how to turn anything on for a week when you moved in. Y'know, we don't have dials and hamsters on wheels powering our things any more, old man.'

Steve chooses to ignore him. The moral high ground will always win against Tony's incessant sarcasm.

'For the record, a lot of women don't _dig _scars,' Natasha says, emphasising the terms Tony had used. 'A nice, natural look is always best.'

Clint, whose hand had been about to return to its position twisting at the end of the piece of thread currently holding two sides of his forehead together, instead found it scratching his nose. Natasha smiles to herself.

'Oh dear God, Barton, do you even see how whipped you are?' Tony groans. 'Honestly, this sexual tension, or whatever it is you two have, it's really starting to grate on me. Can you do me a favour and just do something about it? While you're under my roof and all, and grounded from SHIELD missions. It's just inconsiderate.'

The assassins simply stare at him. It is unnerving and doesn't solve anything.

'What is this _sexual tension_?' Thor questions. 'It is not a Midgardian term than I have come across before.'

'You wouldn't know, big guy, because we can all hear you and Jane being thoroughly… un-tense. And I live two floors above you.'

'Some of us only live one floor above,' Steve mumbles, eyes fixated on his near empty plate.

'Which reminds me, Tony,' Bruce starts, 'I do think a Hulk-proof chamber in the Tower could be a good thing. A very good thing. Especially if we have any excess soundproofing left over for… other things. The armoury. The gym maybe. Thor's suite.'

'He sings really loudly in the shower too,' Clint adds.

'I must celebrate a session of lovemaking with my lady Jane with traditional Asgardian song!' Thor says, somewhat defensively.

'Great, now I never want to hear Thor sing again,' Natasha sighs.

'Hey, don't be racist,' Tony reprehends. 'Uh, extra-terrestrialist. Demi-godist?'

'Wouldn't that be atheist?' Steve says.

'No, it's not that she doesn't believe in Thor, she just doesn't believe in the values of his culture.'

'Some of them he just shares too openly,' Natasha shrugs. 'I don't like the one about the necessity of thunder several times a week either.'

'Mjolnir must not be left idle,' Thor claims.

'Can't you just build some shelves or something with it instead? Or repair some of the damage that your brother-,'

'-adopted brother-,'

'-did, since Tony is being a bit lacsidasical on that front?'

'Lacsidasical. That's a fun word,' Tony says.

Natasha's eyes narrow. 'Doesn't get a lot done though, does it?'

'Work in progress. I'm a busy guy. And not just someone picking apart the belief system of a teammate.'

'I've heard that every time you say you don't believe in Asgard, a Thor dies,' Bruce says quietly.

'But if you clap three times and say you do believe in Asgard then he might just live,' Clint smirks across at Bruce. Steve hears the familiar whoosing sound of a reference going right over his head. Thor misinterprets the joke and slams his fist on the table, which is, in turn, misinterpreted by the waiter as a signal for more food rather than the demi-god's righteous indignation.

'Where do you hear these rumours and lies?' he demands.

'Calm down, buddy, it's a Midgard thing,' Tony soothes. Thor scoffs and occupies himself with his fresh plate of food. 'Tensions are getting a bit high here.'

'It's the adrenalin rush wearing off,' Steve explains. 'Everyone's getting a bit tetchy because they're feeling tired.'

'Nah,' Tony shakes his head. 'It's more than that. This is roommate stuff.'

'What?'

Tony leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers together, sensing it is time to be teacher and unveiler of all wonders.

'We've been living together for a few months now, yes?'

'Yes.'

'When we first all moved in, we knew we didn't exactly all see eye to eye or get on. We got over that and I think we've bonded as a team, just like you wanted, Cap. Only, it's gone past that now. We all spend too much time together, all up in each other's space. We know what it is that the others do that irritates the fuck out of us.'

Steve scowls. He thought they had all been getting on alright. 'Like what?'

'You, dearest Steven, grind your teeth when you're thinking. It makes a disgusting sound. And Ms Romanoff agrees with me, because when you grind your teeth, she flares her nostrils- a tiny sign, I have learnt, that the Widow is annoyed.'

'Or that you're pissing her off,' Natasha amends.

'Okay then,' Steve says, thinking it all through. 'I'll try my best to stop doing that.'

'It's no good, it's engrained into you, like Clint incessantly cracking his knuckles when it gets too quiet,' Tony says sagely.

'Clint can try and stop doing that too then.'

'If it upsets the great Tony Stark then I guess I'll have to,' Clint states wryly, making a mental note to crack his knuckles more in Tony's presence. 'Anything else you'd like to add to your list, Tony?'

'Sometimes I wonder if Bruce ever actually wears his glasses for the amount of time I see him wiping them on his shirt.'

'How is that annoying?' Bruce asks slowly.

'Because it means you're not looking at me when I'm talking to you!'

'Oh, so you want _more _attention.'

'I'm not exactly going to say no.'

Natasha leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, a wicked glint in her eye.

'Okay. Would anybody else like to assist me in making a list of Stark's annoying habits?'

Nobody even slips in a word of affirmation before the listing begins.

'He never shuts up.'

'He's self-centred.'

'He doesn't wipe down the gym equipment after he uses it.'

'Hey, it's my tower, I don't have to let you guys stay and boss me around!' Tony attempts to defend himself. The list continues on anyway.

'Tony uses Mjolnir to hang his jacket on.'

'He never knocks before he just barges into your room.'

'_My _room, technically. My tower.'

'I don't think he really appreciates Ms Potts.'

'That's getting personal, Rogers!'

'It's never his turn to empty the trash.'

'He leaves dirty plates on the floor.'

'Okay, okay, enough!' Tony shouts. 'Surely it's my turn now?'

'You already had yours,' Bruce points out.

'And now it's mine again. You guys want to pick faults in me? Fine. But it's not just me. Natasha, you use your job as a way of scaring us into doing things _and _you always leave doors open behind you. It gets draughty! Steve, your good guy old school haircut is irritating enough without you going all high and mighty on us when someone forgets to turn a light off. It's clean energy, use all you want! Thor… well, you're loud. All the time. And you keep breaking my stuff. It's starting to piss me off. Bruce, you keep getting my workshop and lab all out of order, you hardly ever label anything and, when you do, I can't read your slap-handed scrawl. I've seen squirrels in the park with better pensmanship than you. And Clint, when you decide to change your hearing aids, do you have to leave the other ones on the kitchen counter? Come on, man, that's gross.'

He finally stops to take a breath, as if to say 'end scene'.

But that doesn't happen. Instead, he finds himself getting hit in the face with a slimy piece of meat. It whacks him in the eye. Clint doesn't even attempt to look innocent about it.

Oh well, Steve thinks, as Tony reaches for his glass of water, ready to chuck it over HawkEye, but is caught out by a deft move of Natasha's which finds Tony tipping backwards out of his chair. They had bonded for a bit, and worked well as a team today, but it felt like things were about to come full circle.


	4. Return of the Chitauri

It hadn't taken long for things to descend into chaos.

They had only been there for a few minutes, not even bothering to place orders as the restaurant now knew what to start cooking as soon as they arrived. They had taken their seats, Tony and Clint continuing their sniping at one another about how Clint wasn't authorised to teach Tony how to fly the quinjet, only leading to Tony's further whinging.

'But I wanna fly the cool plane,' he had complained.

'No, Tony,' Clint stood firm, whilst remaining seated. 'I know you've got more money in your accounts than in the entire African continent, but those jets are expensive and your recklessness would make for an insane insurance claim. Not to mention I don't have the damn patience to try and teach you anything. You have the attention span of a demented gnat.'

'Sorry, what? I got distracted by something shiny out the window, turns out it was just the sun shining off a trash can and then- ooh look, pretty birdies!'

'And I seriously don't even know if you're joking or not.'

Tony sulked. 'I wanna fly the quinjet! Think how mad it'd make Fury. You know you want to see that, Barton, you love making his eye patch twitch.'

'No thanks, Stark. It's more fun when I can do that on my own terms.'

'Aw, you're no fun.'

'When you are the Iron Man you have the ability to fly,' Thor pointed out.

'I get lonely in the suit on my own. I should never have programmed JARVIS with the ability to ignore me when I was annoying him. Gosh darn his reserved British sense of humour.'

'What about your private jet. Crewed by pole dancers,' Bruce added. 'Why not fly that?'

'It's flash but not fast.'

Steve sighed. 'Can we for once have a conversation that doesn't revolve around Tony?'

'What's up, feeling left out there, Spangles?'

'No, _no_, I don't want to talk about me. Just… something else. _Anything_.'

Which declaration brings us to the here and now.

There is a sudden crash from outside. The sound of metal screeching against concrete. A car alarm rings piercingly.

'Huh, we could talk about why that cab is upside-down and on the sidewalk,' Tony suggests.

'What is it, a car accident? Did something hit it?' Bruce asks, half making a move to stand. Natasha is on her feet, as is Steve. Three members of staff have rushed over and pressed their noses up against the glass. Apparently serving food to a team of superheroes just isn't that interesting anymore.

'Can't see any other cars looking like they've hit it,' Steve says.

'No, but the street is… quiet,' Natasha observes. 'Where're the people, the traffic?'

'I don't like this,' Tony says. 'Not one bit. Nada.'

A phone rings. Natasha's.

'Fury,' she tells them all as she answers. 'What is it?... Yes, we're at that damn shawarma joint again… No, sir… What? Now?... We've got it…. No, no need for back-up… Yes, sir, I'll report back in later. This shouldn't take too long.'

She dismisses the call and tosses the phone none too gently back onto the table.

'We have incoming,' she informs the others as if the information bores her.

'Incoming what?' Bruce enquires.

Something lands heavily behind them, smashing down onto the underbelly of the car. Five other bangs follow as they turn to look out of the window. The cab driver has just managed to scrabble away, hands bleeding.

'_Chitauri_,' Steve breathes.

'Rogue Chitauri,' Natasha explains. 'Fury just caught sight of them. They've been in hiding, waiting. Somehow disconnected from their mothership and out for revenge.'

'So, us then?' Clint chips in lightly. He pulls a knife out of his boot. The Chitauri are lining up atop the broken vehicle, arms swaying, eyeing up their enemies.

'Looks like it.'

'You're saying I flew a nuke into space and almost died for nothing?' Tony moans.

'Not totally nothing,' Bruce says. 'Think of it this way, without the near-death experience associated with that event, you may never have suggested we come visit this excellent eating establishment.'

'I also would never have had food poisoning.'

'Again I find myself repeating the question- _why _do we come here?'

One of the Chitauri rips the exhaust out from the abandoned cab.

'There are only six of them,' Thor laughs, 'they are no match for us, the team who so greatly led this planet to victory against my adopted brother!'

'Look around you, Thor,' Natasha speaks quickly, 'where's your hammer? The Captain's shield? Stark's suit? We're hand to hand here.'

'I'm completely useless then,' Bruce says.

'What about-,'

'_That _is a last resort. Let's see how you guys get on.'

The Chitauri have edged closer now, springing down from their perch. They creep forward menacingly, like an extra-terrestrial bike gang whose territory the Avengers have unintentionally impinged upon.

Steve decides to take charge of the situation.

'Thor and I will take the front charge,' he instructs, 'Widow, HawkEye, back us up if we need it. Tony, Bruce hang back. If the time comes… Bruce you know what to do.'

Bruce nods reluctantly.

'But for now cover our rear.'

Someone snorts. '_Rear._'

'Not _now_, Tony.'

'Actually, Captain, that was me.'

'Oh. Shut up, Clint. It's time to be HawkEye.'

'Sir.'

The aliens have now assembled against the shopfront, leering. Steve glances about, sees that the restaurant staff have already jumped ship. There were no patrons to be worried about either. There rarely were.

The lead Chitauri pulls its arm back, the arm bearing the heavy metal of the stolen exhaust. It swings it forward in a swift movement, through the window. It shatters and the shards begin to fall back and rain down onto them.

'Nobody fucks with shawarma time!' Tony cries.

He and Bruce dash back, dragging tables with them, flipping them to form a fortress. Even over the sound of the final slithers of glass crashing around them Steve hears Tony berate himself for not having put on the metal bracelets which would have called his suit to him.

Thor lunges forward with a mighty roar and grapples the metal from the Chitauri's hands. The others take this as their cue to attack.

Steve jumps in, fists first, even his super-soldier fists feeling the strain of making physical contact with the hardened carapaces of the aliens. Beside him, Thor has wrestled the metal from the leader and used it to impale another upon it.

He looks away again to find a Chitauri gripping his face in an attempt to snap his neck. Clint, shorter than both, swoops in beneath them and scores the creature with the knife had removed from his boot. It doesn't defeat it but it does distract it enough so that Steve can get it in a chokehold. He twists roughly and the flailing body goes limp in his arms. Two down.

Natasha and Clint have teamed up against a third, ducking its attacks but struggling to close the distance between them to make any real damage. The leader is leaping back out onto the street, rusted metal exhaust in hand, the body of its comrade still skewered upon it. Thor bounds out after it.

'Uh, Steve? Cap? Captain!'

Steve spins around. Two Chitauri are advancing towards Tony and Bruce's makeshift fortifications. Tony has resorted to throwing condiments and napkins. Bruce is attempting to reinforce the table-fort by pressing his back up against it. A table leg falls off. He looks dismayed for a moment before realising that he now has something of a weapon.

'Why aren't they more like slugs?' Tony laments as he tosses salt at them.

Bruce springs forward and whacks one around the face with the table leg. It snaps and the creature looks at Bruce as if it thinks he should be reconsidering many major life decisions at this precise moment. He does, right before rushing back behind the shelter.

'I'm out of napkins!' Tony wails.

'What a shame because they made such fantastic projectiles!' Bruce shouts back.

Clint and Natasha have succeeded in taking their foe down. Clint rests his foot against its head for support as he wrenches his knife out of its dead eyeball.

'What is it with you and eyeballs?' Natasha asks. She sounds disgusted as the knife slides out with a soggy pop.

'HawkEye, Widow!' Steve calls. 'Little help over here?'

'Thanks for taking your time, Cap, it's not like we're sitting on a stockpile of defensive weapons here,' Tony chips in, now joining up with Bruce to prevent their table shield from collapsing as the Chitauri push forward.

'I dunno, you had your _napkins_,' Bruce comments through grit teeth.

Steve boosts Natasha up onto the back of one of the aliens and Clint throws his blooded knife to her. She catches it by the handle with ease, as if she hasn't just had something incredibly sharp hurled at her. She goes straight for the eyes.

'And you were saying what about me a second ago?' Clint jeers as the body falls back and Natasha flips off whilst flipping Clint off.

He dives forward to help Steve with the last of the creatures still in the restaurant. The Chitauri, angered, strikes back, whipping an arm back into Clint's chest and sending him flying across the room. He collides with their hastily abandoned chairs.

Steve has prevailed against the frenzied attack. He punches out at the creature and it lashes out once again, smashing one of Tony and Bruce's defensive tables in half.

'Quick, Tony, tell me, what colour are my eyes?' Bruce demands.

'Why have you chosen this moment to test our relationship? Now's not exactly the time for romance!'

'Tell me, Tony!'

'I dunno, they're brown, like melted chocolate, oh, how could I just drown in those chocolatey eyes of yours.'

'You're not looking at me! Tony! What colour are my eyes _right now_?'

Tony turns to his friend.

'They're… uh-oh, they're getting a bit-,'

'Green?'

'Other Guy green.'

'Clear out of the way!'

Steve and Natasha have just vanquished the remaining Chitauri as Tony bursts forward through the tables.

'A thanks would be nice,' Steve says as Tony shoves them forward.

'Bruce is about to Hulk out, we need to be out of here!'

'What about-?' Natasha starts.

'Oh, your Hawk-boyfriend is fine, I just saw him twitch feebly and that's definitely a sign of life. Rogers, grab Barton and let's clear out!'

Tony, Steve, Natasha and a semi-conscious Clint who does not approve of being carried bridal style, even if it is by Captain America, clamber over broken tables and glass and out onto the street.

Thor's battle with the leader appears to have come to something of a standstill. The leader spins the exhaust pipe, between its hands. Thor merely stands as if on an imaginary surfboard, legs apart, one arm thrown back.

'What is he-,'

'Oh _no_.'

'Thor, your hammer is all the way across town, you can't just-,'

It's too late. Mjolnir comes hurtling down the street, hammerhead first. A terrified tabby cat appears to be clinging to the end of it, screeching.

The hammer freezes in mid-air before its master. The cat leaps down and sprints off as fast as its four legs will carry it. As it does so, a menu for a new Italian restaurant and several leaves the mythical hammer had picked up on its journey over also fall to the ground.

Steve groans. 'Remember we have to keep an eye out in the newspapers tomorrow for stories of civilians with massive bumps on their heads.'

Thor takes Mjolnir by the handle. In a familiar move, he arcs it up over his head as he jumps up high. He brings it down with force on the Chitauri who moves too slowly in the presence of the demi-god to defend itself. Mjolnir crashes down, crushing the alien from head to foot, forming a sort of unappealing extra-terrestrial jam.

It's all over. Thor inspects the end of Mjolnir. A winded Clint wants to be let down from Steve's arms. Natasha rolls her eyes.

And behind them, Bruce Hulks out. A dazed Hulk smashes through the building, kicks at the body of a Chitauri.

'Bit late now, buddy.'

…*…

A/N: That ended up longer than I thought it would! Thought it was time for a slight change in pace though. Just want to say thanks to those who have taken the time to review, it means a lot!


	5. A Christmas Miracle

A/N: I have no idea why my brain has decided that it's appropriate to write about Christmas in July, but it has. Please enjoy anyway!

…*…

A lot of things had gone wrong in order to lead them to be eating shawarma instead of the more traditional turkey Christmas dinner sometime in the evening of December 25th. It really was quite a list, one which Tony felt necessary to recount to his disgruntled fellow diners.

'Let's start from the beginning then.'

'A very good place to start,' Bruce adds. As it stands, he is resolutely not eating anything. He sits, arms folded somewhat protectively across his stomach, trying not to remember the horrible stomach spasms he had suffered the previous week when he had picked up some shawarma to go on his way back through the city streets to Stark Tower. Listening to Tony is at least a little bit better than vivid flashbacks to writhing around on the couch vowing never to return to the restaurant ever again.

'Do we have to?' Natasha asks.

'I feel like if we just recount everything that went wrong, we'll be able to work past it together and get back into the Christmas spirit,' Tony says.

'You already have us wearing these ridiculous paper hats.'

'And if that hasn't made you feel festive then I don't know what will.'

Natasha glares at Clint for his input as she adjusts her own hat, a shade of cerise that clashes horribly with his hair. His purple hat, whereas it is not exactly masculine, actually rather suits him and she is annoyed about that too; as well as the fact that he seems to actually be enjoying this day long balls-up which is masquerading as Christmas.

'No, I think Tony actually has a point,' Steve says. 'We should just laugh about all of this and out it behind us, start enjoying our Christmas.'

'Yeah, then Gramps can regale us with tales of the real meaning of Christmas.'

'I was on your side here, Tony, why're you still… still-,'

'Taking the piss out of you?'

Steve presses his lips together pointedly. 'Yes.'

'I dunno, funsies? But, please, in the name of Thor, hold back from all of the Biblical stuff. It's not like any of us here are religious.'

'I am.'

'I am a religion,' Thor adds. 'Midgardians used to worship me and hold feast days in my honour in much a similar fashion as they now do for this _Jesus_.'

Thor does not sound pleased as he sounds out the other deity's name. He takes an especially large bite (even for him) of his shawarma and chews unhappily.

'Speaking of,' Tony turns to Thor, 'Jesus. God. Christianity- or any of the religions really, besides all of that Nordic stuff, obviously- any truth in it?'

Thor swallows and opens his mouth to answer, but is interrupted by Steve clapping his hands over his ears.

'Ah-ah-ah, I don't want to know. No. Not like this.'

'What, spoilers?' Tony asks.

'Just… No. Please don't say anything, Thor.'

'It is good to see a mortal who still holds faith in something. I shall respect your request, Captain.'

'Thank you.'

'Spoilsport,' Tony mutters.

'Play nicely, Tony,' Bruce tells him. He has found himself cast, once again, as Tony's minder as Pepper had left after their failure of a Christmas lunch to go and visit her parents. Tony was supposed to go and meet her there later and Bruce knew he'd be landed with the job of reminding the errant Iron Man of this long-standing invitation.

'Back on topic then,' Clint takes charge of the conversation, 'Operation Avengers' First Christmas. How exactly have we ended up here?'

'It all started so well,' Bruce says sadly.

'We were on track until about mid-morning, I think,' Natasha says.

'You say that now,' Bruce begins to counter-act, 'but really, it probably all went downhill from the moment we all agreed to have Christmas together, as we're all damaged individuals without families, and that we'd cook it ourselves too.'

'Let's dissect that sentence some more,' Tony cuts across. 'Damaged individuals. That's the key point really. Only a "damaged individual",' he air-quotes, momentarily transporting everybody back to the mid-nineties, 'would consider deep-fat frying a turkey an appropriate cooking method.' He glares at Clint with this thought.

Clint only shrugs in return. 'I learnt to cook in a circus. If it wasn't deep-fat fried then it wasn't cooked.'

'We should've just stuck you on cotton candy duty if that's the case then.'

Clint shudders and looks horrified. 'No. _No_. I do not like cotton candy.'

'What?'

Natasha pats Clint reassuringly on the shoulder. He shakes his head.

'Dear God, did you _fall _in a vat of cotton candy, Birdy boy? That's most kids' dream.'

'It was a fucking nightmare!' Clint returns. 'I couldn't breathe! It was sticky and pink and blue and I kept spinning around. I didn't know which way was up. It went in my eyes.'

'What a truly scarring memory.'

'You have no idea.'

'I have some. You did just tell me.'

The image of a child-sized Clint tumbling about in a cotton candy machine revolves in all of their minds for a moment. Steve blinks and clears his throat.

'Circus flashbacks aside,' he says, 'I don't know if we can blame Clint for all of the cooking screw ups. I have no idea why you thought an omelette was an appropriate side for Christmas dinner, Tony.'

'It's my speciality,' Tony grins.

'Didn't look like it,' Natasha says. 'You know that you're not actually supposed to eat egg shell, right?'

Tony's smile drops. He frowns. 'I thought something wasn't quite right. Bless Pepper, she still ate it.'

'You do not deserve that woman, Stark,' Bruce sighs.

'No. But no one else would eat egg shell for me.'

'I've eaten enough bones for you with your insistence on eating at this place so often.'

'Are you coming onto me, Bruce, with your promises of eating undesirable carcass pieces and shells?'

'Just reminding you that we all do a lot for you.'

'I do my bit too! I put you all up in my Tower, provide you with nourishment, offer to host Christmas for you bunch of lonely sadsacks, and what am I repaid with? Black Widow slaughtering a live turkey on my white floors like some sort of early morning Christmas sacrifice and a Norse god setting my kitchen on fire because he overloaded the toaster with Pop Tarts. _Again_.'

'I am the god of thunder, not of fire,' Thor excuses himself. 'Fire is a mysterious beast.'

'The toaster shouldn't be, I've explained it to you enough times. Even Steve gets it.'

'We did have toasters in the forties,' Steve says defensively. 'We even had movies.'

'Yeah, I remember you wetting yourself over getting a Wizard of Oz reference. Can't imagine your reaction when you first saw the shiny talky-talk pictures.'

'Why do you continue to paint me as so naïve?'

'It's not that you're naïve, Steve, although I do like the rhyme there. You're just… Too wholesome. All-American. Maybe even overly righteous sometimes. It harshes my buzz, man.'

'Natasha, I think you may have been right when you wrote that Tony would not work well in a team.'

'Oh no, right in my feels. Think you've played the Tony-is-so-selfish card before, Cap.'

'It's not about you being selfish, Tony, we all know that you've proven that you're not, it's more about the sheer amount of presence you have. You divide up our attention too much.'

'Yeah,' Clint starts, 'if someone was writing down the conversation we've had since getting here, Tony'd probably be speaking every other line.'

Tony chews his lip as if battling the urge to speak. He ultimately fails as he exhales loudly and exaggeratedly, saying, 'I probably can't disagree with that. I don't even listen when you guys are talking. I'm just planning what I'm going to say next.'

'I bet you can't shut up for five minutes,' Clint smirks. 'Probably not even one, but five might be nice if you could make it that far.'

'I will take that bet,' Thor announces.

'We can start a pool,' Natasha says.

'Put me down for thirty-four seconds. Think that's the longest I've seen him go without speaking before,' Bruce says.

'You've timed me?' Tony bursts out.

'Aaaand you've failed already,' Clint says as he checks his watch. 'That was about eight seconds.'

'I didn't say we'd started!'

'Okay. Start… _Now_.'

'So Bruce reckons thirty-four seconds,' Natasha says. She takes off her crooked cracker hat, then leans over the table and takes a biro out of Bruce's front shirt pocket. She scribbles Bruce's name down, followed by 34S. Tony watches silently. He folds his arms and tries not to huff, thinking that may lose the game for him. 'I think it'll be… a minute and five seconds. Thor?'

'Two and a half of your Midgardian minutes. No doubt it will feel as if an eternity has passed to Stark.'

'Two and a half for Thor then. Clint?'

'Hmmm… He's gone twenty seconds now. Put me down for a minute and fifty-five.'

'Steve?'

Steve sits back. 'I think he can do it.'

'Really?'

Tony, too, quirks an eyebrow at Steve.

'Just to prove Tony wrong. He annoys me just as much as the rest of you a lot of the time but I do believe in him. I think he can last five minutes. Maybe more.'

'Your leadership is touching off the battlefield,' Natasha says snidely. 'This is Tony we're talking about, not Iron Man.'

Tony points at himself, then his Iron Man suit bracelet (which he had taken to wearing permanently since the Chitauri situation a few weeks previously), then back at himself.

'You're not allowed to communicate via mime either,' Natasha instructs. 'Just sit and be quiet.'

For the first time since their initial visit to the shawarma restaurant, after they'd first saved the world as a team, having lived together for nearly a year, having had to have Tony pay to rebuild the restaurant after Bruce had Hulked out in it, the Avengers sat in silence. Steve ate peacefully and watched the snow fall slowly out of the window, Christmas lights blinking and blurring along the streetlights in the distance.

Thor stares intently at Tony, as if daring him to speak. Bruce closes his eyes and massages his temples, revelling in the quiet to think. Clint lifts his legs up onto Natasha's seat and checks his watch.

'Two minutes gone. Only Thor and Steve left in it.'

Steve slips his blue paper hat off his head and pats his hair down. He lifts the pen from where Natasha had set it down beside the betting pool and idly starts to doodle a sketch of a Christmas tree.

'I am a bit weirded out now,' Bruce says, glancing sidelong at Tony. Even the restaurant staff are looking over at them, mildly concerned. Their benefactor appears to have been taken ill. The chef hopes it's not his cooking again. 'This is unnerving.'

Tony only looks smug. He emphasises this look by stroking his beard. Clint has the sudden inspiration to graffiti the goatee onto the mask of Tony's Iron Man suit when they get home.

'Did anybody even give my deep-fried turkey a chance?' Clint queries. 'It's actually pretty good.'

'I was too busy patching myself up after cutting some carrots too vigorously,' Bruce answers. He holds a bandaged hand up by way of example.

'No, I did not eat the cholesterol laden massacre of meat or the bloody vegetables,' Natasha says.

'I spent a lot of time trying to put the fire on Thor's cape out,' Steve explains, 'but he kept spinning and setting it alight again when he panicked.'

'I shall say it again, fire is a mysterious beast. But yes, Clinton, I enjoyed your delicious bird meat. It was most satisfying.'

Clint pauses for a few seconds. His eyes narrow. 'You ate all of it, didn't you?'

'And a tasty morsel it was! I needed to rebuild my strength after my confrontation with the fire.'

'How long has Tony shut up for now?' Bruce asks.

'Four minutes fifteen.'

The waiting staff carry over a brandy-soaked and flaming Christmas pudding. They look pretty pleased with themselves. Thor flinches and backs away from the dessert. Natasha rolls her eyes at this behaviour, flicks a knife so quick across the top of the pudding that the fire dies out, and then begins to slice it into six portions.

'Four minutes fifty,' Clint chimes.

Natasha doles out the dishes.

'Merry Christmas,' Steve says, even though all eyes are on Tony.

'Five… four… three… two… one…'

Still, Tony does not speak.

'It's a Christmas miracle!' Clint cries.

And then, Tony exhales deeply.

'I've just been saving it all up, going to have to say it all faster now before I forget. There is one thing though. One thing I've been dying to say.'

'Dying, really?' Bruce questions.

'Yeah. I had to keep biting my tongue. Could have bled out.'

'What is it then?'

Tony points up, above Clint and Natasha's heads.

'Mistletoe.'

'We know,' Clint says.

'Aren't you going to do anything about it then? Come on, you know you want to.'

'You're such a voyeur, Stark,' Natasha says.

'So there you admit that there is something I could _voyeur_ on.'

'Not sure you can use that word as a verb.'

'You're avoiding the question, Ms Romanoff.'

'And you're avoiding the fact that there's mistletoe above you and Bruce.'

Tony and Bruce look up simultaneously. Tony looks back across at the assassins.

'I will if you two will.'

Bruce looks more than a little alarmed. He does his best not to back away.

'No. Leave me alone. Leave them alone.'

'I just want proof! I know they're more than little assassin work buddies, I know it!'

'Shut up and eat your pudding.'


	6. An Unexpected Delivery

**And one time it was brought to them…**

Steve was almost ready to say that he had had enough, that his super soldier brain was about to explode from having to babysit four injured Avengers whilst also preventing Thor from making things worse in his over-enthusiastic attempts at playing nurse.

He was really beginning to regret convincing Fury that his team, following a battle of proportions even more epic than their initiation into the initiative, would recover better from the various wounds at the tower that they all called home.

'Steeeve,' Tony whines, for about the hundredth and twenty eighth time that day. 'My foot is itching again.'

The Captain looks over at the whinging Iron Man, sat up against his headboard, the reach of his arm to his exposed foot encumbered by the cast wrapped all the way up the leg. He scratches restlessly at the specially commissioned red and gold-flake plaster cast.

'It's only itching because you keep thinking about it,' Steve gets out through clenched teeth.

'But you're so good at scratching it!'

'I can't believe I've already been that near to your feet, Tony.'

'I know I wouldn't,' Clint chips in from across the room. He can't turn to look between the two other men properly, due to the neck brace he is bound up in. Any movements he does make get the sling he is also wearing increasingly entangled in the strapping of the foam padding supporting his head.

'I have the feet of a thrice pedicured and pampered Indian princess, I'll have you know,' Tony pouts indignantly.

'What an oddly specific comparison.'

'It's a metaphor, dumbass. Not a comparison. I _have _the feet of a thrice pedicured and pampered Indian princess, my feet are not _like_ the feet of a thrice pedicured and pampered Indian princess. _Metaphor_.'

'What have you met her for?' Thor interrupts.

'Never mind,' Tony says dismissively. 'It's been impossible to start up an intelligent conversation around here ever since Banner came down with the pox.'

A blanketed lump on the couch groans at the mention of its name. It shifts and Bruce's head appears, feverish and sticky-haired. His face is a constellation of angry red dots.

Bruce- or rather, the Hulk- had made it through the fight unscathed, such was the benefit of being a huge, green, rage monster. It had only been whilst he was helping secure civilians in his human state that he had come across a young boy infected with chicken pox and managed to catch the disease. How he had never caught it before was a mystery to all.

'Don't call it the pox,' Bruce moans, 'you make it sound worse than it is.'

'I don't know if I can, you look terrible.'

'You go back to sleep, Bruce, best thing you can do right now.'

'Can't,' Bruce sulks, and Steve is suddenly able to vividly picture the four year old Bruce must once have been. '_Itches_.'

'Oh, that reminds me!' Tony says. 'Steven, my foot itches. Would ya be a doll and scoot on over here and scratch it for me?'

'No, Tony!'

'But you're so good at relieving me!'

'What?'

'Of my itches. I have an itch that only you can scratch.'

'Hey Steve,' Clint adds, about as usefully as he ever does in moments when Steve has just about had enough, 'I think he may be coming onto you.'

'Whatever it takes to get my foot to stop itching,' Tony winks.

'Yep, he's definitely coming onto you.'

'It's so itchy!'

'Stop talking about scratching…' Bruce mutters. Uh-oh, they could be in a danger zone here.

'What? You went on about your itches for hours earlier, and I'm not even allowed to talk about these things, once- no, twice- no, thrice-,'

'What is it with you and the word thrice today?' Clint ponders.

'Why, Feathers, not know what it means?'

'I do!'

'Then shut up.'

'No.'

'Steve, scratch my foot, dammit!'

'Stop talking about scratching!'

Steve throws his hands up into the air, feeling as ridiculous as the melodramatic action looks coming from such a muscled figure of a man.

'Clint, shut up,' he instructs, 'and Tony, no, I will not scratch your foot. Or anything else you may have implied- if that's what you want, you'll have to wait til Pepper gets back. And Bruce-,' Steve leaps, one-handed, over the couch on which Bruce has chosen to suffer. He grabs both of the scientist's hands and pulls them away from his face. He looks Bruce sternly in the eye. '- no scratching! Captain's orders, don't make me tape them together!'

Natasha chose that moment to wake up, her well-honed spy instincts breaking through any grogginess her medication may have left any more normal human being would have experienced. She was, however, still confined to the bed Steve had had rolled into the room so that he could keep an eye on all four of the injured Avengers together.

'Captain, I'm not convinced that you're quite cut out for this whole nursing thing,' she comments, taking in the scene before her, and the frustration rolling in waves off Steve's toned shoulders.

Steve drops Bruce's hands with a warning look. He stands and sighs.

'I'm a soldier, not a medic.'

'The greatest gift one warrior can give to another is the time to heal,' Thor adds wisely. From where he is sat, engulfing an armchair, he leans over, grips Mjolnir by its steel head, then twists and uses the end of the handle to scratch the bottom of Tony's foot.

'Oh, Thor,' Tony groans graphically, 'you're a _god_.'

'I know.'

Steve gives Thor a look that quite plainly reads _couldn't you have done that sooner?_ Thor shrugs.

There is a knock at the door. The team looks somewhat startled at this event, they had become used to only being the six of them involved in these situations in which talk and irritations were vented. It would seem strange for another to participate and crowd the room of overlapping voices even more.

Steve crosses the room and opens the door to reveal a non-descript SHIELD agent carrying a slightly less non-descript white carrier bag. The smell is familiar.

'I knew something was missing!' Tony crows joyously.

The agent passes the bag to Steve, then turns and leaves wordlessly. It would have been weird if another person had joined the conversation at this late stage, anyway.

'Shawarma!' Clint cries. In his excitement to rush over and relieve Steve of his bag carrying duties, he manages to hitch his sling up higher than is comfortable for his shattered elbow, whilst simultaneously choking himself by tightening the neck brace. 'Shwrmphf!' he wheezes. He grabs out with his free hand. Steve twists out his reach.

'If we're going to eat, we're going to eat off plates.'

Clint, wincing, manages to unravel his tangled bandages. 'Go on then, mother.'

As Steve is plating things up, he finds a note underneath all of the containers. He reads it, then tucks it into his shirt pocket before stepping out to serve his demanding patients.

Thor, with hitherto unforeseen deft waitering skills whisks the plates out of Steve's arms and disperses them amongst the team. He places one on the couch arm above Bruce's pock-marked head, hands one to Tony, then one to Clint, who has perched himself at the end of Natasha's bed, before handing one to Natasha herself.

Steve chews thoughtfully and enjoys the peace that has at last descended among the ranks.

'There was a note with the food,' he says after a few moments.

'Was it an invalidated health certificate from the food health and safety board?' Bruce enquires. His constant disdain at the quality of food from the shawarma restaurant has never prevented him from eating for long, however.

'It was from the restaurant.'

'How nice of them,' Tony says, 'considering that I did pay for their restaurant to rebuilt.'

'After we destroyed it,' Natasha points out.

'What did it say?' Thor asks Steve. 'Was it compliments from the chef.'

'Something like that. Of course, when I say it was from the restaurant, I do mean that it was from Fury.'

That sent a ripple around the room. Steve smiles deviously. It isn't often that he is in the know up against the others.

'What do you mean?' Bruce says.

'I haven't read the note,' Natasha says, 'but I think I know.'

'Know what?' Tony demands. 'What is there to know? How can Fury be Fury _and _the shawarma joint. That's transforming not even I can engineer.'

Steve sets his empty plate down and pulls the folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

'_My dearest Avengers_,' he begins to read.

'I don't think he means that….' Tony mumbles darkly.

Steve continues. '_Ever since the initiative came together and you idiots proved that you were capable of working together as something like a team, we at SHIELD have been closely monitoring you. There is no doubt you know this; at least, I hope you suspect something, otherwise what am I paying you incapable morons for?'_

'He doesn't pay us!' Tony protests.

'He pays me, Tasha, Bruce and Steve,' Clint tells the put-out billionaire, 'and even Thor got put on payroll for a bit after the whole Loki business.'

'It is true. I needed some midgardian currency following the removal of my adopted brother from this land.'

'So it's just me then?'

'Like you need a couple of extra thousand from SHIELD, Stark. They really don't pay that well.'

'Can I finish reading now?'

'My liege,' Tony nods and gestures airily for Steve to, indeed, please continue.

'_Following the Loki incident, we found out that you all shared a terrible taste in food. You developed a taste for shawarma and we followed you there. After the chitauri sought revenge upon you whilst you were there, we even placed agents on the premises, and in the kitchens-,'_

'I was sure that the food had got worse,' Clint interrupts.

'It was never exactly good to begin with,' Natasha says.

'_- in the kitchens. You can take care of yourselves but you can be a danger to others, so you can understand why we had to keep an eye on you.'_

'Ha, eye,' Tony says. 'Not eyes. Good ol', Eyepatch.'

'_I have something to express to you in this note now, however. Stop eating this motherfucking shite.'_

The words sounded strange rolling off the end of Steve's tongue.

'Huh,' Bruce starts, 'he had been showing an unexpectedly formal writing style up until then.'

'_Seriously. SHIELD was also keeping tabs on you in order to make sure that you were bonding as a group, as is necessary to effectively function. These shawarma trips allowed you to further bond. But enough is enough, you live together, you don't need to eat out all the time. Our base nutritionist says this food is terrible for you, even you, Thor, and you should stop eating so much of it. Get out of the habit, try something new. Maybe a juice bar. You won't be able to come back to this place anymore as SHIELD shall be shutting it down following the dispatch of these final meals to you. Health and safety or some shit we don't really believe in. Enjoy it while it lasts._'

Clint looks sadly down at his empty plate. 'I already finished mine.'

He reaches over to swipe some from Natasha's plate, but she swipes him away viciously and he gets the message.

'That's that ruined then,' Tony says dryly. 'We have to find a new place to hang, gang.'

'I shall be sad to see the great shawarma food hall come to a close,' Thor says mournfully.

'And yet our stomachs and digestive systems shall be forever grateful,' Bruce amends.

Steve's eyes scan up and down the note another time.

'Wait a second, there's a PS I missed- _This is for Agents Barton and Romanoff- there is a security camera in that store cupboard. You probably knew that, even if you didn't know that the footage would be coming directly to me. I just thought that you would like to know that the behaviour exhibited within is not encouraged by SHIELD. It is frowned upon. _Yeah, that's it. That's all it says.'

Clint looks unusually silent. Natasha sits up straighter.

'Frowned upon,' Tony says slyly, 'I think I can guess what, but you could always just save me the embarrassment and tell me.'

'None of your business, Stark,' Natasha says levelly. 'There are plenty of things frowned upon in SHIELD.'

'Yeah, and apparently now shawarma is one of them.'

…*…

A/N: And that's it! It took longer than I intended, but this brings this little five and one to an end. Hope you guys all enjoyed.


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